


Little Town

by sheldrake



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, M/M, Potential blasphemy, donkey mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheldrake/pseuds/sheldrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t believe he’s got people in the bloody stable now!” the messenger said to the servant. “That man’ll do anything for a quick buck.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Town

“I can’t believe he’s got people in the bloody stable now!” the messenger said to the servant. “That man’ll do anything for a quick buck.”

“Come on, he’s not that bad,” the servant said for the fourth time, and reached for the cup of wine they were sharing. “He’s helping them out. They would have been really stuck otherwise. The whole town’s rammed.”

The messenger rolled his eyes. “Yeah... I’m completely sure he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.”

The servant let it go. There was no point in spoiling things.

They sat a little longer, sharing the last of the bread the servant had brought, and passing the wine between them. More and more now, the servant found himself looking forward to these evenings spent with the messenger on the roof of the inn, watching the sun sink behind the silhoutted buildings of the town. He breathed in the cool dusk air, filling his lungs with it all, as much as they would hold. Then he held his breath, as if by doing so he could hold the evening inside him, keep it safe for a little longer.

“There’s a nip in the air tonight,” said the messenger. “Can’t remember the last time it got as cold as this, can you?” He pushed his hands up inside the sleeves of his coat, to warm them.

“Perhaps it’ll snow,” said the servant with a smile.

“I bloody hope not,” said the messenger, and grimaced. “Things are bad enough on the roads as it is, what with everyone on the move.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see it, though?” asked the servant, wistfully. “Everything here, all the streets and the houses, under a carpet of white? I would. It might make a nice change.”

The messenger turned and smiled at the servant -- a quick smile out of one side of his mouth.

“Yeah...” he said. “Well, I’ve kind of been there, done that with snow. In the mountains, you know? The novelty wears off pretty quickly.”

“Oh,” said the servant, deflated. “Yes, well I can see how that might happen.”

Time passed too quickly, and the messenger rubbed his hands together and wrapped his arms around himself. He leant over and rested his chin briefly on the servant’s shoulder.

“Stars are coming out,” he said. “I should go.”

****

The next night, it seemed even colder. The servant had brought hot wine and the messenger a rug. They settled themselves on it, and watched without speaking as the pale sun slipped down into nothing.

“This pair in the stable,” the servant said, after a while. “There’s something a bit funny about them.”

“Funny? How d’you mean?”

The servant hesitated. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Well, maybe not,” he said. “They’re always very polite. Still…”

“Huh.” The messenger huffed experimentally, his breath forming white wisps in the dim light. The servant watched him. He had untidy hair, the messenger -- the dark curls always falling in front of his eyes. He had a wide mouth given to quick, crooked smiles.

“There’s something particularly funny,” the servant said, “about their donkey.” He spoke fast and without thought, because he was a little afraid of thinking.

“Their donkey?” The messenger looked amused.

“Yes. You see, I thought it was male, this donkey, when they turned up last night. I was pretty sure, in fact. It was, um, kind of obvious. If you see what I mean.”

The messenger gave him a quizzical look. “Right. And?”

“Well, it’s just… I took them in some food earlier, and now… Now I’m fairly sure it’s, er, pregnant.”

The messenger opened his mouth, shut it, frowned at the darkening sky, and then looked back at the servant.

“Wait a minute, they rode here from -- where was it?”

“Nazareth.”

“--from Nazareth on a pregnant donkey?”

“Not both of them. Just her. And to be fair, she is pregnant too, so...”

“That makes it worse!”

“It looked a lot less pregnant last night,” said the servant. He sighed. “And a lot more male. Look, to be honest, I wish I hadn’t brought this up. Perhaps we should just forget it.”

But the messenger wasn’t listening. “Perhaps it’s got… colic or something. Or perhaps it’s a different donkey, did you think of that? Are you completely sure it’s the same animal?”

The servant shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno… I mean, whatever, you’re probably right. But I grew up on a farm, remember? Maybe I haven’t been anywhere, but I do know some things.”

“I know,” said the messenger, and smiled. “I mean, of course! I know you do.” He put a placating arm around the servant, and sat close against him. The servant held his breath, lest it betray him in the cold air.

Above them, the stars travelled, minding their own business. They were very bright.

****

On the third night, the servant came up later than usual. He brought with him spiced cakes made with honey. As he reached the top of the steps, the messenger turned and saw him, and he smiled his wide, crooked smile. It was cold again that night, but not at all dark, even so late. And it was the cold that made the servant’s breath catch in his throat, and his heart seem to stutter.

“Funny sort of light tonight, isn’t it?” said the messenger, as the servant sat down next to him on the rug. The servant nodded, and handed him a cake.

“I really shouldn’t stop long,” he said. “It’s mad down there. Got all sorts turning up, suddenly. God knows why.”

The messenger’s hair was in his brown eyes again. He shook it free. “But you can stay a bit though... can’t you?” He ate the cake in three bites.

“I can stay a bit,” said the servant, and smiled.

“Well. I’ll not be here much longer, anyway,” said the messenger, his voice carefully casual. “Going off on my travels again soon. It’s good money. Be silly to turn it down.”

“Oh, really? Where this time?” asked the servant, and he thought he sounded quite normal, considering his heart had stopped, and all his organs were made of stone, and his tongue and lips had turned to ice.

The messenger shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was small and flat. “I just go where they send me,” he said. “Does it matter?”

The servant drew his knees up under his chin and shivered. “No. I suppose not.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then a sheep bleated somewhere below them, sudden and loud. They looked at one another and the messenger raised an eyebrow. It made the servant laugh, just a little bit, and the messenger smiled. He cleared his throat.

“What happened with that weird donkey of yours?” he asked. “Just out of interest.”

The servant was pleased that one of them had thought of something to say. It was better than the silence.

“Er, well… hard to say, really.” He rubbed a hand over his face. It occurred to him distantly that he was very tired. “On the one hand, it definitely is male. I checked. I even double-checked, just for you. And on the other hand… that couple are now the proud owners of a new baby donkey.”

“Oh.” The messenger thought about this. “That seems unusual.”

“It does,” the servant agreed. “It does. But then, I suppose unusual things do happen. I mean, they must do. And they might as well happen here as anywhere.”

“I guess so.”

“Even,” continued the servant, his voice taking on a quality he really hadn’t intended. “Even somewhere as mind-blowingly dull as this shitty little town, where nothing ever happens. Not ever.”

The messenger stared at him. “I kind of... I thought you liked it here.”

“Um. No, not particularly. Really.” The servant was embarrassed. He fiddled with a cake, then plucked distractedly at the rug.

“I mean, you’ve never complained…” The messenger paused, still looking at him, and the servant shrank under his gaze. “... About anything, ever. You never do, do you? So why do you stay here then, if you’re not happy? Why don’t you just go somewhere else?”

It was too cold, really, to be sitting up on a roof. The servant hugged his knees and tried to rub life into his numb calves. He thought how the messenger’s clear brown eyes made him feel naked and exposed, and he didn’t meet them.

“Where would I go?” he said. His words seemed to drop into a blanket of stillness that somebody had spread out across the whole town.

The messenger shifted up against him and tucked his chin back into its place on the servant’s shoulder. The servant thought how well it fitted, as though it were a thing that belonged, that was supposed to be there. Then the messenger pried the servant’s cold hands away from his knees, and held them between his own.

“Your hands are always bloody freezing,” he said softly. “Do you know that?” He shuffled round until he was facing the servant, blew warm breath onto the cold hands, and tucked them under his coat. He wrapped his arms around the servant and drew him forward to lean against him. Very, very slowly, the servant felt the ice begin to thaw.

“You could always have come with me,” whispered the messenger, and his lips brushed the hollow of the servant’s neck as he spoke. “I should have said. I’m sorry.”

****

It was cold, even for the season. Somewhere in the little town, with its ordinary roofs and narrow streets, its ordinary little lives, a first snowflake fell.

 


End file.
